The silence stretched between us. Not heavy this time. Not hollow. Just real. Tentative and fragile. Like something we might one day call a beginning.
Her voice cracked like thin ice under pressure. “You walked away,” she said. “And for the first time, I saw the weakness in his cage too. You gave me the strength to do the same.” Then she dropped the bomb. “I’m divorcing your father.”
The room stilled. My breath snagged in my throat. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to blink. My mind went blank, a hollow shell filled with static as I processed what she had just said.
Richard cleared his throat, stepping forward like he’d rehearsed this. “Your father is bankrupt, Theo. He’s facing civil lawsuits… possibly criminal charges. Most of the deals you worked on? They were smoke. Fabricated paper trails. Shell companies. He used you to sell the illusion—your name, your talent, your polish. You were the bait.”
I fell back in my seat. Hard. “I thought they were real,” I muttered, numb. “Every one of them—I… I poured myself into those deals.”
“They were real enough to convince others,” Richard said gently. “But not to sustain anything. He was drowning. And he used your brilliance to buy more time. The only thing that was real was the country club and that belongs to you.”
My pulse thundered in my ears. My skin crawled like it didn’t belong to me. The silence that fell wasn’t peaceful—it was ruinous. A dead weight collapsing everything I thought I knew.
My mother reached into her purse and pulled out a slim leather folder. Inside, a single document—official, heavy with history. “Your grandfather left you a trust,” she said quietly. “I kept it hidden. If your father had known, he would have drained it dry. But it’s yours now. Completely.”
She placed the folder beside me. Her hand trembled as she pulled back.
“I should have protected you,” she whispered. “And I know I can’t ask for your forgiveness. But I’m here. And I want to try. If you’ll let me.”
I looked at her. Really looked. The woman beneath manicured perfection, beneath the pearls and the designer silk. Her eyes were raw. Grief-etched. Hope barely held her upright.
“You knew about Sin,” I stated. “You didn’t seem surprised when I chased after him that night.”
She nodded. “He makes you happy. I met his mother once. Elizabeth Soul. Fierce woman. I liked her.”
I couldn’t suppress the bitterness scraping my throat. “Then you don’t know what they did to him.”
She blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean? She’s the darling of Hollywood.”
“You know better than anyone, Mom… nothing is quite as it seems.” I raked a hand through my hair, pulse uneven. “He told me things. About being left alone as a child. Forgotten. Ignored. Coming home from boarding school to an empty mansion where no one remembered he existed. And even now, they still act like they did nothing wrong.”
She went quiet. “Well,” she finally said, voice gentle, eyes glistening. “Then he’s lucky he found you.”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
She crossed the room and knelt in front of me. Her hand found my face, fingers soft on my jaw, eyes shining with emotion. “You have a heart of gold, Theo. Even when you hide it behind all that ice.” My lips trembled. The tears came faster than I could stop them. “I haven’t said it enough… but I love you, darling. I’m so proud of you.”
The ache cracked open something deep in me. I sank into her, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, clutching like I used to when I was little. When I thought she could fix everything. When I still believed she would.
It felt like being a child again—held, wanted, safe.
“I don’t know what to do with all of this, it’s… a lot,” I admitted into her shoulder.
She smiled, small and real. “None of us do. But maybe we’ll figure it out together.”
And for the first time since I was a child, I thought maybe we actually could. “I’d like that,” I said, my voice shaking.
She pulled away and brushed my tears aside. Pressed a kiss to my forehead like she used to when I had nightmares. “Signthe paperwork,” she whispered, “and I’ll give you the account details. It’s a start. A first step toward something new.”
“Thank you.”
Richard handed me a pen. I took my time, reading, processing—then I signed. Slowly. Cleanly. One name, one stroke at a time. Like carving away who I’d been.
“I should have been stronger,” Mom said, her voice breaking. “But he made it impossible to see a way out. I’m sorry I let you down. I’d love to meet Sin someday.”
I let out a tired laugh. “That could be arranged… but don’t expect him to be easy. He’s nothing like the world we grew up in.”
“He’s good for you,” she said simply.
